As Before, and Never Again
by FinnFiona
Summary: Harry struggles with the void left by Ginny's passing, looking to even older bonds for a source of comfort. Prequel to First and Last, Sleeping Without Her, and Going.


"I'd like to propose a toast," Ron announced as he raised his glass into the air, "to your very first great-great-grandchild. May we always thank Merlin that you had children before us," he added with a lopsided grin.

"Hear, hear," chimed in Ginny, Hermione, and Harry as all four friends chuckled heartily, clinking their goblets together.

"I can hardly believe she's pregnant already—it seems as though they just got married," Hermione mused with a far-off look.

"I don't know when we got old enough to have two greats added onto the grandchildren," Ron replied self-depreciatingly.

"Speak for yourself," Ginny said with mock-affront, "I'm still a year younger than you lot."

"Well I, for one, hope the rest hold off just a bit," Hermione put in, "I'm not quite used to great-grandchildren yet, as it is."

"Oh, nor am I..." Ginny agreed. "Do you know Lily Flooed in for advice just the other day when she was watching the twins?"

"Whatever for?" Ron asked.

"It seems they'd involuntarily charmed their toys to running, flying, or otherwise gallivanting about the house. Lily was practically in hysterics," Ginny said with a wry smile. "So naturally I said they were her grandchildren and it was about time she learned what it was like to have a pair of terrors ransacking her house."

"You didn't," Hermione breathed, wide-eyed, though she was smiling.

"She and Hugo _were_ a fright," Ron said fairly.

"Do you remember the time when you two took that holiday to Barcelona and left the kids with us?" Hermione asked, reminiscing. "Somehow Lily and Hugo coaxed Al to stick his head through the latticework in the garden. He was wailing for a full ten minutes because he couldn't get it out before I remembered I could use magic to free him."

"That's only because I came outside and reminded you," Ron chided.

Hermione nudged him with a feigned huff before turning pointedly back to Ginny, "so did Lily ever set them to rights?"

"Oh, yes," Ginny replied. "I went and checked on her an hour later and she had it all under control. Wasn't too keen on talking to me until I volunteered to get them all washed up, but... Honestly, of all our children to have three of the most well-behaved little girls. Doesn't seem right, does it love?" Ginny asked, turning to Harry.

"Sorry?" Harry said distractedly. "Oh, yes, not fair at all..."

Ginny smiled and reached for Harry's hand under the table, not missing a beat as the conversation turned to the latest Harpies-Cannons match.

Harry knew Ginny didn't think he wasn't paying attention—that in fact, it was quite the opposite. After so many years together, Ginny could recognize when Harry was in one of his more reflective moods. At times, he just liked to let the conversation swirl around him—listening to the voices of his wife and best friends rise in heated debate or break into peals of laughter. It was these moments when Harry could hardly speak but for the feeling of gratitude that would wash over him. They'd mourned many losses and, as tonight, prepared to welcome many new additions to the long-swollen Weasley table. Although their ever-bourgeoning family was more than a consolation, it wasn't always easy to face a day where nearly everyone you'd grown up with was gone. But they weathered it together.

There was a time when Harry would never have expected to make it past another Christmas, the summer months, his 17th birthday. And yet here they were, the four of them still keeping company, going out for dinner, arguing over a Quidditch match or the new Minister's latest policies, comparing stories from their children or from the jobs they'd left years ago but that still managed to track them down for their insight. Harry loved it—he loved _this_—this time with the people he held most dear in life. Harry knew Ginny understood that, though he would rub his thumb over her forefinger as a gesture of his thanks. Although, he thought as he was rewarded with small, warm smile, Harry hoped she knew he loved her most of all.

* * *

"Harry, come to bed..." Ginny's voice called down as Harry made his way slowly up the stairs, stopping to look at the many photographs that adorned the wall on his way up.

"Be there in a mo'!" Harry called back as he came to a halt before the family photo taken during the last summer holiday. Though it looked seamless now, Harry knew the photographer had had to splice two images together to produce a photograph that held their faces at any recognizable size, and in which their stand-in figures wouldn't feel the need to push and shove quite so much to be seen.

"Sorry, I was just looking at the photos," Harry said as he entered their bedroom and made for the wardrobe to change into a shirt and shorts for bed.

"Any in particular?" Ginny asked knowingly as she set her book on the nightstand.

"The one from last June," Harry answered slowly. "Ron's right, we are getting old."

Ginny cocked her head slightly, but didn't say anything, inviting Harry to go on.

"It's just that... I never thought I'd see this day, not really," Harry admitted.

Ginny reached a hand to Harry's back as he sat himself carefully on the very edge of the bed. "You've earned it, I think…" she said quietly.

"I just did what I had to, you know that," Harry shrugged.

"I know you don't like to see it this way, but… like it or not—had to or meant to or _not_—you saved the entire Wizarding world. And then you kept at it," she added.

Harry raised a noncommittal shoulder once more. "It was just… I don't know…" he went on, struggling to find the words to explain that even after those years of darkness and endless fighting, plus however many more as an Auror, the fate of Wizarding kind never stopped being a very abstract concept. He cared about that—them—whomever, sure, but that was never really the motivation.

"You saved me," Ginny said, her hand still on his shoulder.

"That was years ago," Harry replied, though in truth, the memory was still crystal clear.

"No," Ginny said in a soft voice that carried such intensity, it compelled Harry to turn and face her. "You save me every day."

The look in Ginny's eyes as Harry met her gaze caused his heart to skip a beat. "And here I thought it was the other way around," he nearly whispered as he cupped a hand to her now bright silver locks and left a lingering kiss on her brow.

* * *

Harry woke suddenly with a violent chill. "Gin… you're like an ice box…" he groaned, rolling over slowly. Ginny was usually abnormally warm when she slept. Harry, meanwhile, tended to sprawl out in every direction. As a result, they often drifted to opposite sides of the mattress. Yet on this night, Harry found that Ginny's cold hand was clasped firmly in his own, her unusually cool skin pressing against him.

"Ginny…" Harry mumbled again, gently extracting his hand from hers and placing it on her shoulder. "Ginny, did you hear me?"

There was no answer from his wife as Harry reached with his other hand to turn her towards him. Harry would never be able to explain it entirely, but seeing her face was the moment he knew. He unconsciously reached for her hand again, desperate to feel her warmth, her touch—but it was lost to him.

She was gone.

* * *

"Harry…!" came a distant voice from downstairs as the front door opened slowly. "Gin?" the voice called again. "Harry, mate, I know you don't like to lose, but two hours late for our weekly chess match is going beyond stalling."

Harry dimly recognized the voice as Ron's as it moved through the house. For a split second, Harry almost wished for a worried neighbor or a complete stranger even, if it meant not facing a friend—_family_—with the cold reality he held in his arms.

"Ah, having a bit of a lie-in, I see…" came Ron's teasing baritone from the other side of the door.

Harry couldn't bring himself to answer. All he could do was rock his wife steadily back and forth on the bed they once shared.

"Harry…?" Ron called tentatively, as he pushed the door open slightly. If Harry had been more aware, he would have heard the worry seeping into his friend's voice. "Harry, what…?" Ron said slowly as he came fully into the bedroom. "Oh, Godric…" he breathed as he made his way around the bed.

Harry more heard than saw Ron sink to the floor as he saw Ginny's pale form. Distantly, Harry realized he couldn't see much of anything through his swollen eyes still obscured by the tears that refused to stop pouring out of him now matter how many hours he cried. Blinking steadily, his vision cleared enough to see Ron reach a hand just over his sister's shoulder before pulling it back to his wand, casting a faint but visible Patronus off into the morning light.

* * *

"Harry, how long have… How…" Ron said hoarsely as he reached for his sister again with trembling hands.

"No…" Harry managed to moan instinctively, resisting as Ron attempted to gently release Harry's grip on Ginny.

"You can't just… we can't…" Ron said, stopping to meet Harry's eyes. It was the pain that Harry saw couched there somewhere between resolve and regret that stirred him most. Weakening, Harry allowed Ron to ease Ginny's body onto the bed and lead him slowly out of the room. Having made their way down the stairs and to the drawing room, Ron deftly maneuvered Harry to a seat on the couch before nearly crumpling onto the cushion next to him.

Some foreign observer that was Harry's mind at that moment saw Ron—almost as though he had done his duty—give up the fight for control. Visibly shaking, Ron seemed to draw even further into himself as he stared straight ahead, hands clasped against the edge of the sofa.

All too soon, the door was opening again and Hermione was suddenly standing, near panic, in front of them. The calm and calculating voice in Harry's head deduced the reason for Ron's earlier, hurried Patronus even as Hermione whipped out of sight. Harry could hear her running up the steps with a speed incongruous with her many years. There was a thump and a gasp—all too audible in the still house—and then silence.

Harry felt he sat there for an eternity, unable to move or speak or even think. In reality, it was less than a minute later when Hermione was before them again, slowly kneeling before the couch, tears streaming down her face. Her gaze fell on Ron first as she grasped his hand firmly. Her presence seemed to pull him above the surface long enough to turn with her as her eyes found Harry's face.

For the second time, Harry was confronted with a truth that he wanted to find impossible but knew he couldn't. It crashed on him with brute force, obliterating whatever shred of restraint or self-deluding reason he had left. He shook his head, biting his lip fervently.

Hermione looked between Harry and Ron once more before pulling them both to her, resting her lips on Ron's forehead as his tears joined hers. "Oh, my boys…" she whispered haltingly, "I'm so sorry…"

Harry gave in as the words washed over him, powerless as his body shook with renewed sobs. He held tight to Hermione's shoulder, all the while wishing it was Ginny's.

* * *

Hours later, Harry was wandering aimlessly through the sea of family and the children of friends long gone that now crowded his house. Everything was a blur of activity that seemed to go on around Harry with unnatural purpose and speed. He passed Teddy, already at work on a eulogy with a half eaten bar of chocolate beside him, distracting himself with work in a manner eerily reminiscent of his father.

Harry moved past the kitchen, nearly coaxed inside by the aromas emanating from the large stove. Molly was there with Louis and several of the grandchildren, cooking with a fervor worthy of her namesake. Making his way to the entryway, Harry caught sight of Hugo, bravely stomaching the last arrangements being detailed by the Ministry undertaker as he saw him out.

Hoping not to be seen, Harry traced a familiar path up the stairs to his bedroom and sunk unceremoniously into the rocking chair left over from lullabies and midnight feedings long forgotten.

"Dad…?" came a nearby voice, shaking Harry out of his reverie. He turned to find his daughter standing in the doorway. Even with the reddened nose and glassy eyes, she looked so much like Ginny that Harry had to gasp for breath.

"Dad?" she repeated tentatively, coming further into the room. "Do you want… that is, would you like everyone to leave?"

_Her voice even sounds like Ginny's... and she seems to know me almost as well… _Harry thought ruefully, not trusting himself to speak as he nodded his assent. Harry had always loved how similar his daughter was to his wife, but today it was a painful reminder—and Harry hated to think that this could now be his reaction.

"Lily," he said at last as she turned to go. She looked back, expectantly. Harry held out his arms and Lily melted into them, burrowing her face in his chest much as she had as a little girl. "You're so much like your mother…" Harry whispered.

"Thank you," Lily whispered back after a long moment, remaining in her father's arms.

* * *

Harry spent the next several days almost exclusively in his room. It was the last place Ginny had been and Harry felt tethered there, unable or unwilling to leave.

Family members would come in and out, with trays of food or comforting words or both. Albus came several times a day, just to sit in silence with Harry as they stared out the window. Al had always been a master escape artist like his father, opting to be alone for hours when something was bothering him. As another quiet hour passed, Harry also noted that Albus was quite as guarded with his emotions as Ginny had been.

And yet, as Rose walked in behind Al the day of the funeral, Harry realized somewhat proudly that his youngest son also asked for help when he needed it—a trait that rather set him apart from either of his parents.

"Hullo, Uncle Harry," Rose said softly as she and Albus took seats on the bed. "How are you holding up?"

"It gets easier one day," Harry said flatly, "it always does. But that's not today."

Harry didn't miss the shared look between his son and niece. "Everyone's almost ready to go, Dad," Albus said at last. "Do you want us to get your robes out for you?"

Harry didn't say anything in response. Part of him felt absurd, just sitting here. But the last few days were a study in immobility and Harry wasn't ready to face the next few hours… The closer he got to his dress robes, to the stairs, to the front door, the closer he was to the cemetery, to the freshly dug earth, to the absence threatening to consume him.

"You are going… aren't you?" Rose asked tentatively when Harry didn't answer. "I think… I think you would regret it if you didn't," she added.

Harry looked at her searchingly before turning to Albus and finding the agreement in his eyes. "Of course I'm coming," Harry said with more confidence than he felt. "I'll be down in just a minute."

Though they hardly looked convinced, Rose and Al nodded and filed out of the room. Left alone once more, Harry forced some element of determination through his veins. He stood and walked to the bureau, switching his jeans and shirt for dark, black robes. Placing his hand on the doorknob, Harry steeled himself for his first real steps in a life without Ginny.

* * *

"Harry, you can't stay in here forever," Hermione pleaded as Harry remained resolutely on the bed. Harry knew now that he hadn't been ready for the funeral a week ago—perhaps never would be ready. Weakened beyond measure, he'd retreated to his bedroom—_their_ bedroom—once more.

"We know it's hard," Ron was now saying from beside his wife, "but this is no way to live."

"What if I don't want to live?" Harry murmured darkly.

"You don't mean that," Hermione said, taken aback.

"What if I do?" Harry said hotly. He was standing now, feeling more strength now in anger than he had in days. "I don't know how to _do_ this anymore, how to go on living when something is missing. Something bigger than I've ever felt before—it's as though half of me has already gone."

"Harry," Ron said, with an obvious effort at restraint, "we understand, but we—"

"You _understand_?" Harry cut him off. "How can you? If I'm not mistaken, your wife is standing right in front of me."

"Well in case you've forgotten," Ron retorted, his ears growing red, "_your wife_ was also _my_ sister. I have lost every single member of the family I grew up with. I've been outliving my brothers since I was barely of age and now I've outlived my baby sister too. It's not right—it doesn't feel _right_. Do you understand _that_?"

"Well," Harry said coldly, "I'm sorry, but my parents didn't have the opportunity to provide me with brother and sisters or maybe I would."

"That's not—" Ron began but Hermione cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"_Stop it_," she intoned forcefully, fixing both Ron and Harry with fearsome glares. "I will not let you fight over who gets to miss Ginny the most, over who gets to _hurt_ the most. You both have every right to be upset," she said, her voice cracking as her words grew faster and higher in pitch. "I miss her too, and she's not even—and everyone—" Hermione couldn't finish, putting a hand to her mouth as she ran from the room.

Ron glowered at Harry before he followed his wife, leaving Harry to sink onto the mattress, his anger dissipating to leave a hole in his heart even bigger than before.

There was a careful knock at the door and Harry turned to see his oldest son standing somewhat wide-eyed under the door frame. "Come in," Harry said heavily. James did as he was told, though he hovered at the edge of the mattress, a worried yet quizzical expression marring his countenance. It reminded Harry vividly of James at eight years old, when he'd first truly understood what "your father killed the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time" might really mean.

"You didn't think you got your temper from the Weasley side alone, did you?" Harry asked regretfully.

"I suppose not," James replied, allowing a wry grin to twitch at his lips for the smallest of moments. "But Dad…" he hesitated, "you really—you have to come out of here sooner or later."

"I know," Harry said softly, staring at his knees. "I'm sorry, I just don't feel ready… I just… I just want your mother back."

James pulled his father into a hug which Harry returned gratefully, vaguely aware of the irony of how much he now felt he relied on his own children.

"You know," James said after a few minutes, pulling back, "a wiser person than I once told me that you can't control death. You can't trick it or cheat it or even understand it. But you can trust it and be comforted by its certainty. There will be a right time for everyone, regardless of what we may think is best—because life is the only true answer of the choices we are given and death will come when there is no longer a choice to be made."

Harry smiled sadly. "You Mum _was_ a wise woman," he said, thinking of how she had helped and reassured him through all of the losses and his own, closest brush with death so many years ago.

"She was," James said slowly, "but actually, Dad, _you_ taught me that."

Harry met his son's eyes, feeling a weight lifting slowly, if not completely. "Thanks for reminding me," he said genuinely.

"Any time," James said. "It's getting late… I probably ought to get home. I'll see you tomorrow…?"

"Tomorrow," Harry nodded and James left.

Harry laid back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow…

* * *

A few hours after James had gone, Harry found himself still wide awake. He glanced at the clock, reading 1:00 AM before looking at the beckoning doorway. Without allowing himself time to think or find excuses, Harry propelled himself off of the bed, out of the door and down the stairs.

Coming into the kitchen, Harry was surprised to find Ron and Hermione sitting hand in hand at the long wooden table, talking quietly over two cups of tea.

"You're still here," Harry started, amazed but secretly glad.

"You didn't think we'd give up that easily, did you?" Ron said with a somewhat miserable attempt at a grin as Hermione summoned a dry cup from the cupboard.

"Would you care to join us?" she asked tentatively, proffering the cup and kettle.

Harry would never cease to be amazed at their capacity to forgive. Though he hadn't given them reason in a long time, a part of him still expected them to give up on him one of these days. "Oh, erm… yes," he said, realizing he still hadn't spoken. "But I… I have to apologize first. I acted like a complete arse…"

"We understand, believe me," Ron said, voice sympathetic and full of remorse, "I'm sorry too, for what I said."

"We're both sorry," Hermione added, "we shouldn't have forced you to do anything you weren't ready for…"

"Maybe not," Harry said, sitting down to his tea, "but you were right. It wouldn't be," he stopped, taking a steadying breath, "it wouldn't be right to go on like this. I just don't know how to be any different… I don't know if I remember how I lived before… before her…" Harry admitted, staring into the amber liquid before him.

"You had us," Hermione said in a small but firm voice as she reached her free hand to squeeze Harry's own. He grasped her fingers, remembering—remembering what it was like to have the support of his two best friends above all else. Though he might prefer four, now that he knew it was possible, he remembered the three and the comfort it had brought him on many occasions.

"And Harry," Ron added, searching Harry's face with earnest, "we're not going anywhere, mate."

Harry smiled sadly as Ron gripped his shoulder, completing the triangle that had once been all Harry knew of friends, of family—of love. So many people had come into his life since then—and many had left. But this was a constant, these two people in front of him. They had buoyed him from the depths more times than Harry cared to remember. Now, even as he felt himself near drowning, Harry saw the hope that they were offering and welcomed it in, hoping it would be enough.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well! I can't believe this series is finally finished, or that it even became a series at all… But I've really enjoyed writing it, and I so appreciate everyone who has stuck with me on it. (And for those who are interested—yes, I am now free of distractions to work on **_**Seconds**_**.)**

**This particular installment, I feel, turned out longer and with a somewhat different tone than the others… I suppose that's what I get for ending at the beginning. Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoyed it—please let me know what you thought!**


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